


The Faceless Girl

by magpxe



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Eventual Romance, F/F, F/M, Hogwarts Fifth Year, Hogwarts First Year, Hogwarts Fourth Year, Hogwarts Second Year, Hogwarts Seventh Year, Hogwarts Sixth Year, Hogwarts Third Year, Metamorphmagus, Multi, Slow Burn, The Golden Trio Era (Harry Potter)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-14
Updated: 2020-04-21
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:27:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23652307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magpxe/pseuds/magpxe
Summary: Nyxanna Reign - a metamorphagus - has never known peace. Her parents died when she was an infant, and once her powers manifested she spent years in the service of merciless muggle circuses. Albus Dumbledore rescues her from this miserable existence, and sets in motion the greatest adventure of her life. Perhaps she'll even find love along the way.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Original Female Character(s), Luna Lovegood/Original Female Character(s), Neville Longbottom/Original Female Character(s), Ron Weasley/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 5





	1. Year One | Diagon Alley

I _’m standing._

_Waiting._

_Burning to ash in the heat of the spotlights like an ant under a magnifying glass._

_The acrobats perch in the rafters, watching like vultures._

_The crowd is obscured by a blanket of shadow but I hear them jeering._

_The noise is deafening._

_“Ladies and gentlemen!” The Ringleader’s voice booms. “I present to you, the Faceless Girl!”_

_I should be numb to his words - to this act - and yet rage still boils beneath my skin. It threatens to bubble to the surface. I don’t want to be his puppet anymore, but I know what I have to do. If I refuse - if I hesitate - there will be consequences._

_Ugly consequences._

_As the fury engulfs me, my eyes flash crimson. My onyx hair begins to turn a deep sanguine, beginning at the roots and seeping downward through my wavy locks like blood from a wound._

_The crowd roars._

_Tears prick my eyes._

_“Nyxanna!”_

_A voice calls me from a distance._

**_“Nyxanna!”_ **

───✱*.｡:｡✱*.:｡✧*.｡✰*.:｡✧*.｡:｡*.｡✱ ───

My bleary eyes flutter open to the sound of bony knuckles rapping against the aged wooden door. They adjust to the waking world. They take in the dust motes dancing in the morning sun that streams through the cheesecloth curtains. Around me are boxes and crates - some marked, others mysteries, but all relics from years long forgotten. Pressed to the wall at the foot of my bed is a dresser. The top is covered in knick-knacks from my years on the road. It’s the only touch of “me” in this dusty old storeroom. It’s tucked away off a rarely used corridor on the fifth floor of Hogwarts castle. It’s not much, but I’m grateful for it.

Anything is better than the life I was living.

**_“Nyxanna Reign!”_ **

The steely voice belongs to none other than Professor McGonagall. 

“Yeah?” I grumble past the sleep still clogging my throat.

“It’s time for you to wake up.”

“Why?” I whine, burrowing into the downy pillow. I pull the aubergine duvet up around my face and snuggle into it. 

“Because we have plans this morning, Miss. Reign. We need to make it to Diagon Alley _early_. I’d like to finish our shopping before the hungry masses arrive.”

 _Diagon Alley_. At her words my hair transitions to a vibrant daffodil. I’ve been waiting for this day for _weeks_.

“Time for you to get up.” She insists. “Lest I get Severus in here instead.”

I bolt upright. 

“Message received.”

───✱*.｡:｡✱*.:｡✧*.｡✰*.:｡✧*.｡:｡*.｡✱ ───

Our first stop is Ollivander’s, where the eponymous shopkeep has spent over an hour scouring the store for the right fit. No wand seems to be doing the trick. One spouted a perpetual stream of volatile periwinkle sparks, another shattered a window and rained fractals of glass down upon us, and this is to say nothing of the one that snapped clean in two.

Ollivander goes to the back of the store, obfuscated by the murky curtain cast by the towering shelves. He returns with a dusty black leather case, clasped shut with a silver dragon clasp. “This wand has been in the shop nearly fifty years.” He explains as he opens the peculiar container. “Ebony, with a vampire vein core. A powerful, but fickle companion.”

I take it in timorous hands.

All is still.

I give it a feeble wave, and plumes of smoke billow from the tip. The murky gray becomes pearlescent, then shifts to an iridescent sheen with brilliant hues - viridian, cerulean, and radiant amethyst.

Ollivander clapped his aged, gnarled hands together with delight. “Why, Nyxanna, my girl! It seems we’ve found your match!”

───✱*.｡:｡✱*.:｡✧*.｡✰*.:｡✧*.｡:｡*.｡✱ ───

We’re in a dilapidated shop, tucked away on a seemingly forgotten side street.

Though numerous storefronts on the main stretch advertise cauldrons, McGonagall insists this shop is one of the best.

“What we’re looking for is a basic pewter cauldron.” She expounds as we peruse the shelves. “It’s a good beginner cauldron, and for a reason. The metal is sturdy and can stand up to both improper heatings and caustic brews.”

“Right. So it won’t start coming apart and contaminating my potions.”

She gives a nod, but her arctic eyes seem to be looking past me. A small smile threatens the corners of her thin lips. I follow her gaze and my orbs land on a girl about my age, with ginger hair falling neatly to her shoulders, in a plain blue sundress.

“Sorry.” She says. Her fully, freckled cheeks flush a vibrant pink. “I couldn’t help but listen. You know a lot about cauldrons.”

“I ought to. I’m a teacher, you see.” Professor McGonagall replies.

“Really?” The girl’s sapphire eyes light up. “At Hogwarts?”

McGonagall responds with a delicate nod.

“You probably know my brothers then. The Weasleys.”

The old woman gives a strained sigh. “Yes, I’m familiar with your brothers. I hear another one of you is starting this year. Is that you?”

She shakes her head, and strands of her strawberry hair fall out of place. “My brother is starting this year. I’m next.”

As if on cue, a boy appears at the end of the aisle. “Ginny!”

He approaches. He has a mop of copper hair atop his head, and constellations of freckles that match her own. 

“Mum’s looking for you.” She says.

“Yeah? She’s looking for _you_ , now.” He retorts. His eye is caught by the two of us, and he shrinks slightly under McGonagall’s stern gaze. “Back to school shopping, too?”

“First year.” I state.

“Me too!” His smile returns. “I’m bloody nervous. My brothers already have a reputation.”

“Good or bad?”

“One’s a Prefect, and the other two are in detention every other week. Everyone’s wondering which I’m gonna be.”

“Oof. That _is_ rough.” I say. “Dumbledore pulled me from a circus back in America the other month. I’ve been staying at the school ever since. It’s going to be weird with all those people there.”

“America? How’d you get into Hogwarts?”

“I was born here.” I extrapolate. “I guess I was still in the system, even if they took me away.”

“Well, hey! Maybe you could show me around!”

“I dunno. I’m still learning my way around.” I sheepishly confess.

“Then… I guess we can get lost together?”

“Pinky promise?”

He cocks a brow at me. “ _What_ promise?”

“ _Pinky_ promise.” I repeat.

“Is that a muggle thing?” He quizzes.

“Yeah. It’s sort of like their version of an unbreakable vow. Except with less consequences.”

“Oh..”

I extend my little finger towards him. “So, pinky promise?”

“Yeah.” He hooks it with his own. “Pinky promise.”


	2. The Sorting Ceremony

My hair is xanthous - a fluorescent hue befitting the excitement buzzing through me.

The Hogwarts Express pulled into the station not long ago. Through my window, I can see the boats on the lake. Each one is marked by a lantern, drifting aimlessly through the abyssal lake like lost stars through a blackened sky. 

I don my Hogwarts uniform. It’s a simple white blouse, with a gray sweater vest and pleated skirt, devoid of any house colors. I have no clue where I’m destined to end up, though it’s been a topic of debate among the professors since shortly after my arrival. It doesn’t matter much to me. The castle is my home, wherever they stick me, and when the school year draws to a close I’ll return to floating freely through the building as I please. My house only means as much as I choose to let it.

But that’s not to say I don’t have a preference.

Minerva McGonagall, though steely and precise, has been the closest thing to a mother figure I’ve had since Elspeth the contortionist. After she had a fatal “accident” (suffocating to death in a suitcase, something I’ll _never_ forgive), I’ve struggled to get close to people. She was almost a mother to me, and losing people hurts too much.

But the professor seems far more likely to kill than be killed, and I’m begrudgingly warming up to her.

───✱*.｡:｡✱*.:｡✧*.｡✰*.:｡✧*.｡:｡*.｡✱ ───

The fifth floor corridor is empty as always, but soon the halls will be brimming with life. The Hogwarts I know will be a thing of the past - at least for the next few months.

I race down the shifting staircases, leaping to platforms as they transform before my eyes. 

The murmur of students rises from the ground floor. It meets me as my feet hit the stonework and I dash towards the Great Hall. The imposing wooden doors are cracked ajar, and the roar of the crowd greets me as I slip between them. I try and ignore the way the sound takes me back. The way it makes my stomach churn and my knees week, like I’m standing before an audience as I always have.

Lengthy tables are filled with students chatting amongst themselves - catching up with old friends and making new, waiting for the ceremony to start. The room is speckled with empty spaces that Seventh Years once called home. They’re sitting vacant, waiting for us new students to swoop in like little vultures and claim them as our own.

I can hardly see Albus Dumbledore over the sea of heads as he rises. He’s a stately man, in fine plum robes with ornate designs lining the trim and a long frosty beard that reminds me of those wizards I’d always see painted on the side of vans.

I hide in the back, well aware my dandelion locks will draw attention that I don’t need. Don’t _want_. If I could calm my nerves - transform it back to a nice, mundane obsidian - I _would_. 

“Good evening!” Dumbledore’s voice booms. The chatter stumbles to a close as all eyes in the room shift to the elegant man standing at the front. “There are a few start of term notices I wish to announce. The first years please note that the dark forest is strictly forbidden to all students. Also our caretaker, Mr. Filch, has asked me to remind you that the third floor corridor on the right hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a most painful death. Thank you.”

The murmurs spread through the crowd like a contagion, bouncing from person to person until the room springs alight with a flurry of chatter. Mc.Gonagall snuffs it out with a sharp clear of her throat.

“When I call your name, you will come forth. I shall place the sorting hat on your head, and you will be sorted into your houses.”

A wave of applause washes over the room. 

As my chest tightens, I glance to the exit. Once, then twice.

It’s been intently guarded by one Argus Filch - a foul man who roams the halls with less purpose and enthusiasm than the ghosts who dwell in these ancient walls. He watches me attentively as I go about my day, as if he’s monitoring me. Lurking. Waiting for a slip up so he can tattle to Dumbledore and get me thrown to the mercy of the streets.

I can’t escape, even if my skin is crawling and my heart is racing. I see the strands of hair hanging by my face morph into an icy alabaster. 

Each cheer threatens to rip the scab off a festering wound.

───✱*.｡:｡✱*.:｡✧*.｡✰*.:｡✧*.｡:｡*.｡✱ ───

“Nyxanna Reign!”

My knees nearly give out beneath me. With wary footsteps, I begin my march to the seat. I slip through the back of the crowd, and I hear the first whispers begin.

“Look at her hair!”

“Is that a wig?”

A warmth begins in my cheeks, and my stomach sinks at what’s to come. The flush spreads across the bridge of my nose, up my forehead and through my hair. The white gets washed away by a vivid rosy hue. Chatter erupts around me, and contaminates the room. Commotion spreads through the room like wildfire, and I am the unwitting match. 

_Shut up! Please! Just shut up!_

Tears prick my eyes.

I push to the front of the room, where McGonagall stands upon the stage. I look to her with desperate eyes, and her flinty expression softens. As my lower lip quivers, her upper one curls. Her attention snaps back to the crowd. “Ladies and gentlemen! That is quite enough!”

The hush is abrupt. 

She ushers me onstage and into the antique chair sitting just a few feet away. 

The hat is old and wrinkled, worn threadbare in places and patched in others. 

“Nyxanna Reign,” the hat croons, “my girl, you have never quite fit in, have you? No family, no home, not even your _hair_ stays yours for long.”

_My hair is perfectly mine._

The hat replies with a dark chuckle. “I suppose it is. Change is your nature, after all.”

_You can hear my thoughts?_

“Of course. How else would I place you?” It hums to itself for a moment. “An unusual girl such as yourself might be right at home in Ravenclaw. A place where your individuality will be celebrated.”

_But that’s not all I am! I’m more than just different._

“Where do you suppose I put you? Surely not _Hufflepuff…_ You have the cunning of a Slytherin, but you lack _fraternity_. And you spit in the face of tradition.”

_It just kinda happens that way sometimes…_

“If not Ravenclaw, there’s only one other option.”

My heart begins to race. 

“You don’t hesitate to stand up for yourself. To take new adventures, and face new risks.” He postulates. “You’re facing down this crowd _even though you want to run_.”

_Did you have to say that out loud?_

“The house for you is none other than - _GRYFFINDOR!_ ”

There’s a roar of applause.

I blink away the tears that linger in my emerald eyes.

A toothy grin breaks out across my face.

A radiant orange washes away the pink.

───✱*.｡:｡✱*.:｡✧*.｡✰*.:｡✧*.｡:｡*.｡✱ ───

“What kind of magic is that?” A gap-toothed girl with unruly blonde hair asks. She sports a pair of thick, oversize glasses that wouldn’t look out of place on a woman six times her age. “Like, that thing you’re doing with your hair.”

I sigh. _My butt barely hit the seat, dude._

“ _I’m_ not doing anything to my hair. Emotions take care of that.” I explain.

A girl across the table perks up. She has a mane of frizzy brown hair and a light dusting of freckles across her nose. Her keen chestnut eyes are fixed on mine. “It’s because you’re a metamorphmagus, right?”

“Yep. You caught me.”

“A what?” The other girl inquires.

“A _metamorphmagus_.” The second girl enunciates each syllable with precision. “A witch or wizard who can change their appearance at will.”

“But she just said she’s not controlling it.”

“Emotions _do_ mess with my powers.” I elaborate. “But I can change myself however I want.”

“That’s so cool! Can you show me?”

“Sorry, I don’t do tricks.”

“It’s rude of you to ask.” The brunette interjects.

The blonde’s thin lips curl into a pout. “Sorry… I know what it’s like. People ask me about my glasses all the time.”

“ _Why?_ ”

“Uh. Have you _seen_ them?”

I stifle a scowl. “People are so stupid.”

“Seriously.” A dark haired boy adds. I recognize him, from his name being spoken only minutes before. From his name being a thing of legends among wizarding folk. With his messy dark hair, and striking viridian eyes peering out from behind his glasses, and a lightning bolt etched perfectly into his forehead, he could be none other than Harry Potter. _The boy who lived_.

“I bet you’re already sick of hearing about yourself.” I retort.

“I’m learning a lot that way. Just the other month I had no idea I was a wizard. Then I find out I’m famous for something I don’t even remember.”

“It must be weird.” I reply. “I know what it’s like to be a novelty.”

“At least I can hide a scar. Must be a lot harder for you.”

I shrug, watching the hair in my peripherals transition back to a relaxed ebony. “I was in a _circus_. I’m used to attention whether I want it or not. And usually, it’s _not_.”

“It sucks. Being poked, and prodded, and gawked at.”

I catch myself giving a small smile despite myself. I’ve met many people in my day, traveling around Europe and the United States, always bouncing from place to place. But finding people who truly understand what it’s like to be put under a microscope are rare. People who know what it’s like to not be able to hide from the prying eyes. In this fleeting moment, I feel I may have found a friend.

“It’s nice to meet someone who gets it.”

“ _Same_.”


End file.
